


take, yours

by thefudge



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ambiguity, F/M, Pining, Sexual Tension, TRoS Spoilers, i am compromised forever, the sexual tension is...a lot yall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22181176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: It’s the kind of surrender you only hear about in the legends. Finnrey (post-TROS)
Relationships: Finn/Rey (Star Wars)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 90





	take, yours

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know about yall, but this awakened things in me

The clash of saber against saber always gladdens her blood.

It’s the first time they’re not using staffs.

Finn is much too focused on his sword hand - on the bite and sizzle of the sparks - to really appreciate the moment.

Rey leans forward, saber sliding low. “Stop looking at it. Look at _me_. I’m the adversary. You’re supposed to watch my eyes, my movements.”

Finn meets her eyes. He looks almost _upset_. She’s broken his trance.

“I was connecting with the Force.”

Rey has to suppress the eye roll. _Newborns_. She understands now why Luke found her rather obnoxious.

“While you’re doing that, I’m almost done disarming you,” and with an inelegant swipe, she makes his saber fly away from his hand and into the foliage beyond.

Finn groans in frustration. He deliberately slams into her shoulder a little too hard as he goes to retrieve his weapon.

Rey plants a hand on his chest before he gets too far.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you _think_?”

“You can just _call_ it to you.”

Finn looks down at her hand. “I can’t yet. It doesn’t work like that. It won’t…respond.”

“Yes, it will,” she replies with conviction, leaning forward. “You just have to believe that it’s _yours_. That you deserve it. Take it.”

Her nose crinkles in that familiar way, a remnant of her grandfather, part of her now, made _Rey_ by her ability to make and remake herself.

Finn has also made and remade himself, several times over. But still – he can’t shake the feeling that there’s one more transformation coming. He thought that wielding the Force would be like coming home, like rediscovering an underwater territory.

It’s not quite.

Rey stares at him expectantly. _It’s yours. Take it._

Finn swallows. The Force feels like a stranger, a cold whisper in the dark. He wants to chase it. He _does_ want to take it. But he fears that soon enough, it’ll be the _only_ thing he wants.

He gently removes Rey’s hand from his chest.

He walks into the forest to retrieve the saber.

Rey lets the water fall down her back in cold sheets. She wipes at her face. She doesn’t know why they can’t be friends like they used to be. They’re practically family, her and Poe and Finn. But ever since she started training him, ever since he told her about his Force sensitivity, they have been slipping _out_ of an easy back-and-forth and _into_ a complicated argument. It’s not that she loses her temper around him. It’s that she doesn’t have _patience_ anymore. She’s waited her whole life for something. Something –she can’t quite describe it.

She chased it desperately when she fought Kylo Ren. She was chasing a Force signature that could withstand her own, that could remain intact even as she stormed its gates.

But Ben Solo had been too much like her. Twins in a galactic womb, they had matched too easily.

After his death, she thought she would stay hungry forever.

Until – until Finn told her. Until he showed her.

She remembers landing on the Resistance Base, Ben’s blood dry on the folds of her britches. She remembers running into their arms. She remembers Finn pulling her into a separate embrace. She remembers him whispering against her cheek, “I felt you dying, Rey. I felt it when your heart stopped.”

Rey remembers the _shock_ , the pure, delicious shock. He was in pain, recalling that dreadful moment. He framed her face between his hands, looked at her like he might still lose her. And all that Rey could feel was a heady drunkenness, sharpened ecstasy, _I felt you dying_. A gladdening of blood. As if he’d squeezed her heart.

She hid her face in his shoulder, embracing him tighter, pretending this was all it was.

Rey touches herself as the water keeps falling. She lets her fingers do the work silently, almost ashamed. She slips in and out of herself, thinking about his words, his touch, his signature, strong and unalloyed, his frustration with her today, the way he removed her hand from his chest, and she comes as she bites into her fist, feeling furious with herself. This is not what friends do.

Afterwards, they share a simple meal. Her hair is still slightly wet. Habit makes her pin it up in three small buns.

The windows are open to let the steam out.

Finn takes the bottle of brew and brings it to his lips. Rey watches him furtively as she breaks her stew meat in half. After a moment, she grabs the bottle and drinks too. Her lips linger. 

“Why do you still wear your hair like that?” he asks as he licks a finger.

“What?”

He points. “Your buns.”

“Oh…I guess I feel comfortable this way.”

“Do you?” And he asks it in earnest, kindness in his voice. And yet, she can’t help but hear something else.

“Hair gets in the way,” she mumbles, biting her thumb. “I don’t much care, anyway.”

Finn shrugs with a smile. “I like it, either way.”

Rey cocks her head to the side. “Then why’d you ask how I wear it?”

Finn stares. “I –”

“Or were you making fun?”

Finn’s eyebrows shoot up. “Hey, I was only curious –”

Rey rubs a spot above her eyes. “Sorry… I think I’m just tired. And possibly cranky.”

“ _Possibly_?”

She gives him an apologetic smile.

“You know I didn’t mean to –” he starts.

“No, it’s my fault.”

“No, I –”

“ _Stop_ being nice about it. It’s _my_ fault, okay?” she says, a little louder than intended.

Finn purses his lips. He grabs the bottle of brew. “Okay.”

And before he’s thought it through, he flicks his hand under the table. He doesn’t think it’ll work. It takes a lot of concentration to move a goddamn training ball across the floor. It’s just a shot in the dark.

But it lands.

Her buns unravel.

Just like that.

Her hair unfurls slowly down her shoulders. It has grown longer. She hasn’t trimmed it in ages. She forgot.

Rey freezes.

Finn thought it would be a kind of joke. The way they used to pull each other’s leg in the past.

But it’s not. It’s really not.

She sits, half-stunned, hair released from the burden of the past, and she feels his Force signature like a hand carding through the locks, thumb pressing gently on the back of her neck. Rey parts her lips.

Finn begins to form the words. _Sorry._

But what is he sorry for?

She’s lovely this way. And he did that. He won’t take it back.

He checks himself. Rey doesn’t feel that way about him. And he’s moved on, hasn’t he? He’s only chasing the Force now. This is what he wants to master. He wants nothing else. 

He gets up. “I’m gonna go practice alone for a bit.”

Rey nods, lifting a hand to her hair.

He’s shrugged off his sweat-soaked shirt. He swings the saber slowly, letting it break the air by degrees, watching the spark consume itself. He loves the violence of the sword, even though he’d never admit it. He loves that one touch can be lethal. He brings his hand to the flame. Palm up.

He remembers when Kylo Ren dragged the saber down his back, left him a dark scar. He remembers healing slowly, touching the mortified skin and shivering with pride and pleasure that he withstood it, because he was stronger, because no saber could break his flesh, not really. And that _was_ the Force, this blinding _alienation_ , the crazy belief that you could swallow the fire.

“Don’t.”

His reflexes are quick.

He whirls and aims the saber in her direction, expecting – he doesn’t know what.

“I told you to stop breaking my focus,” he says, feeling a little foolish.

The tip of his sword is inches away from her neck.

She’s still wearing her hair down. Rey looks down at the sparks. “I saw what you were doing. It’s dangerous.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Yes, but –”

“Don’t you trust me to look after myself? I’m just practicing.”

Rey bites her lip. “I do. But I don’t trust myself.”

And before he can process what she said, she lights her saber. Finn is ready, instinctively.

The lightsabers slide against each other like they belong. They clash like old rivals.

They don’t really _fight_. They don’t go through the motions.

They break apart, and clash again, without technique. They just let their swords crash and melt into each other.

Finn looks into her eyes, like she told him. He’s eerily focused and determined, nothing like the volatile Kylo Ren, he’s calm, poised, under-trained, yet superior. He doesn’t need to connect to a higher state of being. He just slides against her and he’s _there_.

Rey cheats. She raises her hand and makes his saber fly out of his hand.

Finn doesn’t think. He mirrors her movement. Her weapon rolls down to the ground.

They stand in front of each other, breathing hard through their nostrils.

Rey nods towards his saber. “Go ahead. Call to it.”

_Take it._

_It’s yours._

And yet he doesn't. Finn refuses. He doesn’t _want_ to do it.

He stands, waiting.

Rey’s shoulders sag.

She wipes sweat from her cheek.

She doesn’t call to it either. She bends down and grabs her saber. She starts walking away.

Finn raises his hand.

_Call to it._

She finds she can’t move anymore. She’s been caught between slivers of time, frozen in a moment that seems without end. 

And then she feels it. The call. The pull forward.

Her limbs don’t resist.

His signature drags her back to him.

He’s standing in the clearing, arm raised, claiming her, calling her to him.

_The belonging you seek is not behind you_ , Maz Kanata’s words creep through her skin, pushing to get out.

The moan that escapes her lips is indecent and innocent.

It’s not her parents returning, it’s not ghosts from the past calling her name, it’s not lambs to the slaughter.

It’s a strong Force user who loves her, who wants her, calling her to him.

It’s the kind of surrender you only hear about in the legends.

She flies to him, straight into his arms, crashes into his body like sabers, and Finn catches her like she’s a comet in the night sky and he holds her to him with a little awe in his eyes because he didn’t expect that of himself, and he almost wants to put her down, almost wants to disown this moment from becoming something else, almost afraid of his own power, but then Rey grabs the sides of his face and licks his lips, once, feral, craving his strength, and kisses the corner of his mouth, plaintive and hungry and sweet.

“Please, Finn, I need you to –”

He lifts the side of her jaw and brings her mouth to his. _This is how you do it._

And he kisses the need away, doesn’t really stand on ceremony, parts her lips and tastes the signature that cries out for him, and it’s the whisper in the dark, the danger that, in fact, the bloodline of the Sith and all their famished brood are not _half_ the hungry travelers they are.

(he lays her down on the grass floor. runs his thumb over her lips, tips her chin up, lets his fingers caress her throat, the unloved valley between her breasts, the bare incline of her belly, almost like checking for vital signs. _I felt you dying. I felt you die._

“please, I’ve waited so long –” she cries out.

Finn parts her thighs slowly, tracing the constellation of freckles, counting them one by one. “you can wait a bit longer.”)

In the morning, there’s a strange ring of fire around them in the grass.

Rey lies naked with her head on his chest.

Finn looks up at the cloudless sky. There’s something pure and sterile there, a whole universe waiting to cull their blood. 

“What are you thinking?” she mumbles, pleasure-weary, sated with him and the Force.

Finn runs a hand down her bare back.

_We’re dangerous_ , he thinks.

He smiles at her. “I’m thinking we stayed long enough. Let’s get out of here. Go see the galaxy.”

Rey thinks, _we’re dangerous_.

She smiles back, all teeth. “Let’s.”


End file.
